


Digging in the Dirt

by MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s10e02 Reichenbach, Gen, Reichenbach, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd/pseuds/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short coda to s10e02 "Reichenbach."</p><p>
  <em>It's okay, Sammy. I'm just messing with you.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digging in the Dirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozen_delight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozen_delight/gifts).



> A very short fic for you, my friend! Thanks for all the Supernatural chat. Hope you enjoy this!

> _This time you’ve gone too far_

_***_

Dean had never gone through the angry teenager phase. He had affected a little swagger and perfected his quick sneer and eye roll, but that was all for show. Looking back, Sam was sure that Dean harbored little rage and rebellion—not like Sam’s adolescent self. He could remember Dean’s bewilderment when Sam had begun to push back, not only against his father, but against his brother too.

***

Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist. “Sam, wait,” he pleaded. “You’re not mad at me too, are you?”

 _You idiot, of course I’m mad at you_ , Sam wanted to shout. _I’m mad at everything._ “You’re just like Dad,” he snapped aloud, shaking off his brother’s hand.

Dean lifted his hands, palms out. “Look, I’m just messing with you,” he insisted. Sam tightened his hands into fists and glared.

“Okay,” Dean returned in his most annoying placating voice. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

By the next day, Sam had put two hundred miles between them.

When they were reunited two weeks later, their father’s fury was tightly controlled. “You owe your brother an apology,” he growled.

Sam began to snarl “Why the f—” when Dean’s hand closed over his arm. Sam paused and drew in a long breath. He turned to shoot Dean a glance that would say “I’m only doing this for you,” but Dean would not meet his eyes.

Unsettled, Sam blurted out, “I’m sorry.” Dean gave his arm a little shake before he released it. “It’s okay,” he shrugged. “We’re good,” he continued in his usual chipper tone. He looked at their father and said pointedly, “I’m all right.”

Sam trailed after them to the car in confusion. He felt better when Dean turned back to look at him with his usual “What are ya gonna do?” expression, but the easy camaraderie between them never felt the same after that day.

***

Sam looks up from the road and meets his brother’s calm gaze in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time that night. He knows that Dean is well aware of how disconcerting Sam finds that quiet, steady stare.

“How are you?” Sam asks boldly. He’s exhausted, but talking will help keep him alert.

“How do you think I am?” Dean retorts.

“Murderous?” Sam tries to joke. “Just guessing.”

Dean laughs. “Oh, you didn’t get into Stanford for nothing, did you?” he quips, sounding disarmingly normal.

“You always thought I was a genius.” Sam responds. _Whistling in the dark,_ he thinks _. I am so tired._ A bright McDonald’s sign looms at the upcoming exit. It may be a mistake, but he needs to stop for coffee before he runs the car off the road.

At the drive-through speaker, Dean drawls “Get me some fries, would ya, little brother?” There’s a burst of static; Sam glares into the back seat, making his brother laugh. “Hey, don’t look at me; I got nothing to do with that.” Sam’s sure that Dean’s flashed his black eyes at the clerk in the window though, judging from her expression’s sudden transformation from boredom to wide-eyed consternation.

Sam eases the Impala into a parking space under a light and fumbles one-handed with his coffee. He’s taking a much-needed sip when his brother pipes up with “My fries, Sam?” And it may have been sheer exhaustion or just the familiar sound of Dean’s voice, uttering a phrase Sam’s heard countless times since childhood, which makes Sam wedge his cup into the cardboard holder he had been grudgingly given, grab the bag of fries, and, twisting painfully, hand it over the seat without a second thought.

Dean grabs Sam’s wrist, lightning quick but gentle, and Sam gasps, freezing. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sammy,” Dean warns. His grip tightens just a little, and Sam’s eyes close helplessly. He opens his mouth to speak, but Dean has already released him and is settling back in his seat, eyebrows raised. He lifts his cuffed hands as high as he’s able to, palms out.

Sam, shaken, swallows hard. “Dean—” he begins breathlessly.

Dean cuts him off with a soothing whisper. “Shh, Sammy, it’s okay.” _Don’t cry_ , Sam finishes in his head, drawing the words from a thousand childhood memories.

“I’m just messing with you,” his brother murmurs.

“Come on,” he continues, “let’s roll.” And smiles.

Sam’s hands tremble all the way back to Kansas.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Peter Gabriel's "Digging in the Dirt" is the perfect song for demon!Dean and Sam in the Impala.
> 
> _Don't talk back  
>  Just drive the car  
> Shut your mouth  
> I know what you are  
> Don't say nothing  
> Keep your hands on the wheel  
> Don't turn around  
> This is for real_


End file.
